


300 Years

by alikuu



Series: Ost-in-Edhil [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celebrimbor Has Issues, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, Sexy Numenoreans, Temporarily Unrequited Love, a little violence, self-destructive behaviour, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Annatar has a new favorite student and Celebrimbor isjust fine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed some OCs from my other stories, just to make it easier for those of you who've read them. They don't have major roles and you don't need to know them, but if you happen to be one of those readers who likes to keep track of every character, here is a brief list:  
> Rhossolas - Male. A master smith. Celebrimbor's old apprentice and good friend. Sindar  
> Melimincë - Female. Celebrimbor's current apprentice. Noldo.  
> Lumornor - Male. A master smith and Celebrimbor's friend. Mixed blood.  
> Tussambo - Male. Really old friend of Celebrimbor's. Noldo.

“Tyelpe?” A voice startled him from his bleak contemplation.

His friend's pale face sharpened into focus and seeing Rhossolas' worried expression Celebrimbor cleared his throat.

“Where was I..." He tried to remember where he had left off before they had started eating and he had completely lost track of his surroundings. "Oh yes. We can’t use coal tar epoxy coatings for the drills, because the Khazad may come into contact with potable water in their deep-mining operations...”

They were having dinner in Rhossolas’ lovely little home. Dining with them were also Rhossolas’ wife Lothien and their daughter Eregneth, who was a maiden of only sixty. Celebrimbor had been the one to talk through most of the evening, telling them about his latest pursuits and jumping from topic to topic faster than even his old apprentice could follow. Anything to avoid the silences and the discomfort that showed on his friend's face whenever he had dwelt in his thoughts for too long.

“Perhaps if they consider lowering their mithril prices, we could offer them other coatings such as polysiloxane or silicone ablative." Celebrimbor continued. "We could make durable drills, which would not only outlast their great-grandsons and daughters, but also keep their springs poison-free for generations.”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Tyelpe, but Eregneth would like to ask you if you want some more stew?” Rhossolas touched his shoulder and Celebrimbor paused mid-sentence, noticing the waiting expression on the girl's face and the large serving pot, which was making her tender arms shake.

“No, my dear, I'm fine. Here, let me take this -” Celebrimbor hurried to jump to her aid taking the platter, which was neither hot nor heavy to his smith's hands, and carrying it back to the counter.

"Perhaps we can offer you some dessert then?" Lothien offered and Celebrimbor shook his head.

“Thank you, lady, but I'm quite full -" He put a hand on his stomach to demonstrate and turned his eyes to his colleague. "I believe it's getting late. Would you like to show me those assignments that you wanted me to go through?”

“Alright." Rhossolas sighed and gave Celebrimbor a mildly disappointed look, which the latter pretended to miss.

“Although, I didn’t invite you here just so you could help me grade those papers.” His friend continued, watching helplessly as Celebrimbor busied himself with assisting Eregneth and Lothien to clear up the table after their meal.

Celebrimbor didn’t answer and once he finished picking up plates turned to the Sinda with a look of expectancy.

Shaking his head in resignation, Rhossolas lead him to his study where a large pile of student works awaited. Celebrimbor wasted no time in seating himself at the desk and picking up the first paper.

“Health and safety precautions when using ferric nitrate acid baths for etching metals.” Celebrimbor read the title out loud. “That’s a good topic. Students so rarely seem to remember health and safety. Once you were like that too. Remember when you set my workshop on fire?”

He smiled fondly and began reading.

He didn’t know how much time passed after Rhossolas appeared over his shoulder to pick up half the stack and a quill, then carry it over to the bench on the other side of the room. The turning of pages and scribbling of pen nibs filled the air and the silence that stretched over the study was a comforting one. After a while Celebrimbor ran out of papers to grade. He looked over his shoulder and saw Rhossolas with his chin resting in his hand. His eyes were unfocused and his mouth hanged slack as he stared at the page before him.

“Here, let me finish the rest.” Celebrimbor offered softly, picking up the remaining stack and sitting down by his friend.

Rhossolas startled from his nap.

“Thank you, Tyelpe.” He said and Celebrimbor felt his friend’s gaze turn more aware as it scrutinised him. He found that he couldn’t concentrate while being studied so intently.

“What's on your mind?” He asked, putting the stack on his lap and turning to his friend.

“It’s quite obvious that you don’t want to talk about it.” Rhossolas sighed.

“What it?” Celebrimbor frowned.

“You know _what it_!” Rhossolas accused and Celebrimbor shook his head in irritation, the crease between his brows deepening. “I only want to help you, Tyelpe!”

“I don’t need any help.” Celebrimbor said slowly, calmly. He met his friend’s eyes and found them full of pity. He wanted to shake that look off Rhossolas' face. “There is nothing to worry about, I’m telling you.”

“There is something and you don’t have to endure it in silence.” Rhossolas disagreed sadly.

“I am not enduring anything!” Celebrimbor denied. “I am fine, I promise.”

He was fine. He didn’t feel a thing. At least not while he was properly occupied and no well-meaning friends made him talk about feelings, which he'd rather keep unacknowledged.

“You’re not. We all see it. You’ve been acting withdrawn, you work too much and -”

“When have I ever not worked too much?” Celebrimbor challenged.

“You always have, but don't think I'm going to let you change the subject. We’re getting worried. If you keep avoiding the real issue, it's only going to get worse!”

“Who’s worried?”

“Your apprentices, Melimincë, Tussambo, all the masters, pretty much everyone, I think. Even Lumornor, who’s about as sensitive as a log. Yesterday he was asking me how you are taking the whole thing-”

“I’m taking it fine.” Celebrimbor grit through his teeth. “I really don’t care whom Annatar wishes to spend his time with. If he thinks he has more to teach that _Numenorean_ , well he’s probably right. We are doing just fine without him anyway.”

The infuriating look of pity was back in Rhossolas' eyes.

“Tamruben. That Numenorean has a name.” He said and Celebrimbor couldn't quite suppress an involuntary shudder of disgust.

His friend wrapped a comforting arm around Celebrimbor’s shoulders, making the older smith stiffen and then forcefully relax against it.

They sat like that for a long moment until Rhossolas opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated, closed his mouth, and then thought better of it, leaning in to say it quietly in Tyelpe’s ear as if he was afraid that someone would overhear.

“Don’t despair.” His old friend told him, looking away guiltily. “They don’t live very long.”

Celebrimbor’s sharp inhale sounded like a hiss through his clenched jaw, but he didn’t reprimand the Sinda for the unkind and offensive reassurance. If anything, his cheeks turned hot, as he too felt a shameful measure of relief by the knowledge that the human, who had so thoroughly captivated Annatar's attention, wasn’t going to be around forever.

...

Celebrimbor left his colleague's house an hour before dawn after having finished marking the last of the papers. There was little point to attempt any rest before the sun came up, so the elf headed straight for the workshops. He wanted to test the reactivity of his latest samples of coated drill pipes, experiment with different temperatures and pressures before he was certain that this latest product of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain was going to live up to their monumental standards.

He also had some more delicate work to get to - he had been commissioned several vials of ithildin, a substance of his own invention, which was highly priced amongst the elite of Middle Earth, both for its strategical and aesthetic uses. However, producing the star-moon ink meant weaving enchantments that required a lot of strength and concentration, and ideally rest, before they were even attempted.

Briefly Celebrimbor considered putting off the ithildin's creation, but he pushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come. He still had time to do it, the moon was up in the late night sky, so he hurried to gather the necessary tools and ingredients and dashed up the steps to the observatory atop one of the towers.

By the time dawn broke Celebrimbor was sitting on the patterned marble floor, back pressed to the now empty dais where the ithildin had been completed. The vials of moon-star were securely covered in thick cloth where they rested in the artisan’s lap. The exertion of power had left Celebrimbor exhausted enough to reel, but it was almost blissful for his head to be so quiet and empty, and for him to finally be able to rest without torturous thoughts of longing and betrayal assaulting his mind. He sat there, listening to the soft footsteps of masters and students alike, slowly filling the galleries bellow and their voices in the gardens as more and more elves started to turn up. The sun’s morning rays were peaking over the Misty Mountains, warming the side of his face and he closed his eyes against its brightness, letting it caress him until the heat became uncomfortable and he picked himself up.

Gathering his tools, Celebrimbor went from the high tower of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, straight down to the forges.

The workday had already begun and many of his colleagues filled the workshops, labs and smithies. Laughter and hammers rang over the hissing of bellows and the constant chatter, providing a pleasant background for Celebrimbor’s own experiments. His apprentices were soon by his side and together they tested the drill samples in a reinforced water tank where they checked its resilience under different conditions.

“How’s it holding up?” Celebrimbor asked and Melimincë, his senior apprentice, looked away from the eye-glass window that observed the reaction in the tank.

“Remarkably well. Come and see!” The young elleth grinned and Celebrimbor went down to a crouching position in order to look inside the tank.

The elves had installed several mirrors to reflect light into the casing, so that they could clearly see the proceedings inside. The pipe, which they were testing looked unharmed by the extreme changes in temperature and pressure, which was a good sign. Celebrimbor let out an appreciative hum and rose to his legs. In the next instant the world swayed and his vision went dark.

When Celebrimbor was aware of his surrounding again, his head and torso were being held by two of his apprentices. He blinked up at them and realised that he couldn't remember how he had ended up on the workshop's floor. The air was awfully quiet and distantly he wondered why the work had stopped and what made Melimincë’s face crease in such an awfully unbecoming way. The water she sprayed over his face made him blink and grimace.

“Thank Elbereth, he’s coming to!” She exclaimed in relief.

“What… ” He groaned, attempting to sit up while all four of his apprentices fussed over him, supporting his back as if he couldn't do it on his own. From the elevated position he could see that a circle of smiths had gathered around the scene, all eyes turned to him and looking really disturbed.

“I’m alright.” He said, extricating himself from helping hands and getting up on his own. His head ached terribly and he nearly lost his balance for a moment, but he was fine. “Just a dizzy spell.”

“I'm going to get Master Rhossolas!” Melimincë announced, but before she could dash off, Celebrimbor put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“You’re not getting anyone. Back to work, all of you!” He growled irritably.

“Master Celebrimbor-” Melimincë tried to object, but one look from him sent her to her position by the experiment’s eye-hole.

"Morgoth's balrogs! What's going on?" Lumornor, one of the master smiths pushed his way through the gathered crowd and dragged Celebrimbor to a stool. "My apprentice told me that you just fainted!"

Celebrimbor tried to object, but his head was spinning and he couldn't summon the energy to argue with that particularly stubborn colleague, so he allowed himself to be seated and fussed over.

"And now you're trembling." Lumornor grumbled to himself. Then he raised his voice to the rest of the smiths. "What are you all waiting for? You heard him - everyone get back to your tasks!"

When he turned his eyes back on Celebrimbor he asked quietly, "Are you fading?"

"No!" Celebrimbor shook his head angrily, annoyed at himself for the scene he had caused. "Don't be ridiculous! Why would I be fading?"

It was in that moment that Annatar chose to appear and with his attendance, Celebrimbor's entire existence seemed to tumble on its axis.

The Maia was the same as he had always been - an imposingly tall figure, with angelic features that overshadowed the most tantalising of sculptures and art, and whose intense golden eyes, were both wise and intimidating in their knowledge and perception of everything, no matter how big or small. To see a mortal man walking beside such a holy being should have been comical, but the way Annatar turned his entire presence towards the Numenorian boy beside him made it into the most natural thing and sent Celebrimbor’s insides churning, collapsing on themselves in bitter jealousy.

That damned child of Men… Not really a child - the Numenorian was very young, but not a boy, at least not in appearance. Tamruben, for that was the son of a lesser noble's name, had come between the elves of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain at the peak of his physical beauty. His height and stature could rival the tallest and broadest of elves and amongst the smiths, he stood taller and straighter than most. He was also unfairly handsome, with warm sun-kissed skin, eyes the colour of southern seas and the characteristic wavy dark hair of the Western men. His jaw was strong and well-formed and the stubble that grew on it had a copper hue, which was infuriatingly intriguing in its mismatch to his hair and brows.

He was terribly comely and Celebrimbor hated him - hated every charming feature of his care-free face.

With some difficulty, Celebrimbor looked away from the usual proceedings. Annatar was taking his new favorite student to the anvil, which he had claimed as his own, greeting smiths along the way, but sparing no thought to look for the leader of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. That was no surprise - in the months since Tamruben had unceremoniously taken his place by the Maia's side, without so much as a hint of explanation for the sudden switch in Annatar's interests from their mutual projects, to teaching this talented (but not exceptionally so) human, Celebrimbor had come to expect the indifference. Yet on the odd chance that Annatar's gaze passed over him Celebrimbor couldn't show weakness, so he pushed away Lumornor's supportive grip on his arm and went back to his place.

Judging by the way none of his apprentices dared to look his way, and Lumornor folded without another word, Celebrimbor guessed that his expression had darkened the same as his mood. He clenched his jaw and tried to focus back on the experiment at hand, glad that no one dared to approach him.

“Try freezing it now.” He grated between his teeth and Melimincë nodded, sending one of his other apprentices for ice.

…

Annatar's presence made Celebrimbor’s day drag impossibly. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his mind and eyes away from the other side of the smithy where the Maia had stripped off the top-most layer of his robes and was forging metal with his arms bared and his toned muscles outlined by the flaring red light of the fires. Tamruben stood by his side, stripped of his own tunic and bare-chested, boasting sinewy muscle and soft auburn fur, which dusted his forearms, pects and the line bellow his navel. The fact that they were standing so closely together that their elbows brushed as they worked and smiled to each other made Celebrimbor' blood boil and hiss louder than the quenching oils. Once again he made himself look away.

“Let me see those calculations.” He reached for Melimincë’s work absently and stared at the numbers. He could see them, but his mind refused to make any sense of the information.

“Carry on with this." He said, returning the sheet to his apprentice. "I have some other work to get to, but I’ll come and check how you’re doing at the end of the day.”

He didn’t really have any other work left, but he couldn’t stand to be in the same room, however far away, with Annatar and his human boy.

The only thing he could think of was closing himself in his private workshop and making some kind of jewel for fun. He was aware that he was attracting stares as he left the forges, but he kept his back straight and his face aloof, walking deliberately in a leisured pace to imply that he was _not running_.

Alone in the soothingly familiar space of his workshop, Celebrimbor felt no better. The sight of Annatar and the Numenorian had the power to sour his mood for days to come. Only utmost exhaustion granted him numbness, and only when he didn't have to be reminded of how the Maia had made a fool out of him.

The idea that it would one day be over was a small mercy and Tyelpe repeated Rhossolas' words in his head over and over again like a mantra. _'They don’t live very long. They don’t live very long.'_

He picked up his tools and begun hammering away at a piece of copper, no real intent behind the blows, except to vent his frustrations through hitting something.

 _‘How long do Numenorians live anyway?’_ He asked himself, nursing his aching feeling of inadequacy with the cold logic of calculations. _‘And how old is that one - seventy, one hundred? That means I have about 300 years to wait."_

Three hundred years. It wasn’t that long. What were 300 years on the grand scale of his life?

And yet, 300 years were going to pass very slowly when every second of watching that cursed human and Annatar together felt like torture.

What did Annatar see in him anyway? Apart from the colour of his eyes, the fur on his body and the rounded ears, did he have something Celebrimbor didn’t have?

There was one thing. The Numenorian had wasted no time seducing Annatar and taking him to bed. The whole brotherhood of the jewel-smiths knew of their dalliance. Celebrimbor on the other hand had been cautious in giving his heart and had taken only very slow, careful steps towards the Maia. Yet to any elf his affection would have been obvious. Had Annatar truly been blind to it?

The hammer in his hand slipped and he hit the fleshy bit of his hand. How he had miscalculated so badly, Celebrimbor couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was the exhaustion?

As he curled forward over the anvil in silent anguish, squeezing his eyes and his mouth tightly shut, a part of him wondered if he hadn’t done it on purpose. He looked at his hand, the flesh beneath his skin reddened and already beginning to bruise.

Grinding his teeth, he picked up the hammer and started pounding the metal again.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Tamruben means "Servant of Aule" :D

Elves didn’t fall in love often enough for the breaking of hearts to be a mundane or common grief. And when it did happen, it was rarely as obvious or embarrassing as Celebrimbor’s case.

Everyone in the Gwaith-i-Mirdain seemed to know his affliction, having observed his happiness before and his misery after Annatar’s entanglement with the Numenorean.

Thankfully, the other smiths' reaction was to shower him with sympathy and affection, all going out of their way to cheer him up, and Tyelpe found himself being constantly dragged to one merry gathering after another, and invited to dinners and private parties on almost all nights of the week.

He allowed himself to be swept into the hustle of it all, glad for the weak distractions, and pretended to not realise what his friends were trying to do, just as they pretended not to notice his persistent depression.

The smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain had clearly taken a side and were careful not to invite Annatar along on those gatherings, but not seeing him, meant that Celebrimbor was starting to deeply miss his presence. And even as he sat on a table heavy with pints of ale shared by friendly faces, all Tyelpe could think of was Annatar and that island-man, making love to each other in some darkened chamber.

It had scarcely been half a year since the whole thing had started and the illusion that he could stoically endure 300 years of passivity and secret yearning was all worn out. Even surrounded by friends, Celebrimbor felt so alone and abandoned that he often wished for a mere excuse to talk to Annatar. It didn’t have to be a reconciliation between them. It needed not be about anything important at all. All Tyelpe wanted was a moment with Annatar alone. They had been so close before - it was impossible that such comradeship could have meant nothing...

The door of the pub opened and Celebrimbor’s eyes, drawn by some supernatural force, snapped on the Maia, who walked into the establishment with the Numenorean boy under his arm. No one else seemed to notice, but the elf felt himself burn as if branded, and his wishes of seeing the Maia, suddenly fulfilled, were replaced with a deep anger and loathing at seeing how Annatar’s eyes were glued to the Numenorean and didn’t notice his presence at all.

Tyelpe downed his ale in one go and resolutely turned his attention to the conversation between his friends. It was no small feat - his mind seemed dedicated to feeding him information gained from his smallest senses about the Maia’s location, even as he tried to concentrate on his friends - following Annatar’s path to the bar with the very corner of his eyes…

“Gentle-elves!” Tamruben’s rough yet strangely appealing mortal voice cut in through Tyelpe’s thoughts. “How’s everyone?”

The man-child squeezed his broad frame in a little opening on the bench between two elves. He was sitting nearly facing Tyelpe’s side and the elf had to work not to avert his eyes.

Celebrimbor's anger at the other’s presence spiked. Tamruben didn’t have the right to intrude on his circle of friends as he had done on his relationship with Annatar.

The table fell nearly silent, but before the moment could get awkward, Annatar’s magnetic presence dispersed the storm clouds. The Maia appeared along with the barmaid and deposited another round of drinks for everyone, including Tyelpe, which meant that Annatar hadn’t become blind to his existence after all.

Celebrimbor’s heart skipped a beat and he remembered to lower his eyes before his starring became too insistent. It was hard, his eyes had starved for the sight of Annatar for too long and his treacherous heart was trying to convince him that he could hardly embarrass himself any more if he openly gazed at the Maia - everyone knew how he felt. Everyone but Annatar, it seemed.

Annatar acted as if he couldn’t notice anything different in Celebrimbor’s attitude towards him. A willing blindness, Tyelpe thought. An uncaring and slightly cruel one, but the elf couldn’t bring himself to hate him over it. Celebrimbor was ready to forgive him, if only Annatar decided to go back to him.

The conversation resurfaced, directed with ease by Annatar, and pierced here and there by Tamruben’s laughter. The Numenorian could laugh at the smallest provocation, and it made him look so young, innocent, and unfairly attractive.

It turned out that Annatar and the mortal didn’t plan to stick around, but had come only to greet them before choosing the privacy of a secluded table, where they could stare at each other’s eyes and converse about whatever they talked about so keenly.

However before they left, Annatar addressed Celebrimbor and the elf nearly swallowed his own tongue when the entirety of the Maia’s attention was turned on him. Vehemently he pulled himself together, he couldn’t miss his chance -

“Tomorrow I’d like to consult with you on something we’ve been working on, if you have the time.” Annatar said and Tyelpe forced himself to breathe, hoping dearly that he didn’t blush, when he nodded and answered readily:

“Of course.” He said, trying to appear friendly and unaffected. “Whenever you want.”

Annatar smiled widely and Tyelpe’s stomach fluttered with triumph. That had been a success - Annatar was going to meet with him on the next day to discuss something.

Shortly after the Maia was gone, but even in his absence Celebrimbor’s heart was filled with hope.

…

On the next day, Celebrimbor waited for Annatar to seek him out for the consultation he had wanted, glancing impatiently at the hourglass every few minutes or so. As the hours rolled past, the Maia still didn’t come. By the time Annatar and his mortal left, Celebrimbor had already accepted the fact that the Maia had forgotten or changed his mind without deeming it necessary to let the elf know.

It wasn’t that difficult to handle. The disappointment was exactly what he had come to expect and he took it with little more than a sinking feeling in his chest and a stony expression as he watched Annatar leave for the day without a glance in his direction.

Usually with Annatar out of sight, Tyelpe’s hunger for work increased and he threw himself in his tasks until they swept away all other thoughts from his head. However on that particular afternoon, returning to his work reminded him of the way he had spent the entire day waiting for Annatar to go to him, and it left Celebrimbor too disheartened to continue.

He had really looked forward to speaking with Annatar, no matter how little he had expected from the exchange. He tried not to let his shoulders sag on his way to the showers where he washed the grime and sweat away, dialing the water heat to scalding in an attempt to shock the feelings out of his system. Reddened and squeaky clean, he emerged and redressed, heading to the communal halls on the upper floors.

Sunset was still an hour or two away, and there was plenty of light and warmth to sit in an airy balcony or outside in the gardens, where elves gathered, talking and laughing under the warm rays of the evening sun. Celebrimbor ended up in the eastern wing of the library, where shadows grew long and the marble walls were cooling off, wind singing between columns and nooks.

There he found himself alone amongst books both ancient and new. There was something soothing about it, and for a while the elf could run his eyes over the tomes, letting his mind wander to various topics as his fingers skimmed over the leather-bond backs.

He was disturbed by the rather noisy approach of mortal feet and when he turned, he saw the last person he wished to encounter.

Tamruben noticed him only when they were about to collide and smiled that broad toothy grin of his when he recognised the leader of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.

“Master Celebrimbor! What are you doing here?” The Numenorean asked, making Tyelpe raise his eyebrows in annoyance.

“Why, is it so strange to be found in my own library?” Celebrimbor answered, deliberately making an emphasis on the distance between their ranks.

Like most humans, Tamruben seemed to expect elves to be arrogant so he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary with Celebrimbor’s tone.

“No, not at all. Forgive me, if that came out rude.” Tamruben nodded his head and his dark waves fell over his shoulders. His hair had a healthy sheen to it that few mortals possessed and Tyelpe found himself grudgingly admiring it.

When Tamruben had arrived amongst them, the son of a lesser Lord of Numenor, young, bright and starry-eyed, Celebrimbor had welcomed him amongst the Gwaith-i-Mirdain with opened arms and a glad heart.

At the time he had been delighted that such an exceptional Adan would join them and represent his race in the best possible way. He had thought that Tamruben’s presence and successes were going to be good for educating the elves of Ost-in-Edhil about the merits of the human race, and had been impressed by how far the Westerners had come, both in mind and body. Of course, he could never had suspected that those sea-green eyes would end up doing him a great disservice, when Annatar’s interest shifted from working alongside Tyelpe to taking Tamruben as his apprentice, first giving his entire attention to the human, and later his heart.

“Anyway, any particular book you are looking for? What subject are you studying?” Tamruben asked and it seemed innocent enough, but every word coming out of that mouth annoyed Celebrimbor more.

“How is it any of your concern?” His answer came more clipped than he had intended. The way Tamruben flinched as if hit did little to ease the elf’s agitation. If anything, the mortal acting like the victim made Celebrimbor narrow his eyes.

Tamruben took half a step back and then seemingly changed his mind, squaring his shoulders and crossing his muscly arms in front of his broad chest.

“Look, I know why you don’t like me.” Tamruben begun. “And I understand. Your pride is wounded-”

“You understand?” Celebrimbor cut him off sharply. The Numenorean’s eyebrows rose in surprise as the dark-haired elf advanced on him, poking a long finger at his chest threateningly. “No, you don’t understand anything.”

Tamruben simply laughed and caught Celebrimbor’s wrist. The elf’s eyes widened at the casual contact.

“There need not be hard feelings between us.” He said. Celebrimbor attempted to pull his hand away, but the mortal held tight.

Celebrimbor’s jaw unhinged in shock as Tamruben raised his hand to his cheek and cupped it carefully. The elf had to suppress a shiver.

“I know that there was something between you and him.” The Numenorean said softly and it was the absolute surprise that kept Celebrimbor from shoving him away as the mortal went on. “And there can be more, if you want it. I don’t mind sharing.”

“Sharing?” Celebrimbor blinked rapidly. His mind couldn’t comprehend how anyone could possibly suggest such a thing. To share his other half with another… “What do you think Annatar is? Something to be passed around a table?!”

“No, not a table.” Tamruben purred. “How about a bed?”

Celebrimbor held back a gasp and tried to remain as motionless and expressionless as possible.

“You are very fair to me.” The man-child continued, caressing Celebrimbor’s jaw softly. “If I am agreeable to you as well, then I don’t see the problem.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Celebrimbor asked breathlessly, unable to hide the tremor of revulsion.

“Why not? With Annatar between us, of course.” Tamruben had the cheek to grin.

Celebrimbor’s mouth hanged open in sheer disbelief and the Numenorean must have misinterpreted his lack of response and the gaping of his mouth, because Tamruben leaned in as if reaching for a kiss. That was when Celebrimbor shoved him back, using the entirety of his suppressed frustration and his strength to send the mortal flying back and hitting his head against the shelves. Several volumes fell off and the bookcase shook, while the mortal groaned and touched the back of his head.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” He groaned, but Celebrimbor wasn’t finished, his anger having finally been allowed an outlet, quickly blew out of control. The elf grabbed the mortal and pulled him up to his feet before shoving him against the bookcase hard.

Tamruben was quick to retaliate and swung a punch at Celebrimbor, who barely felt the fist connect with his ribs, but the action edge him on, and he threw a punch of his own at the Numenorean’s face, hearing a sickening crack as the human’s nose broke.

Blood was pouring everywhere, over the Numenorean’s lips and chin, colouring his teeth. Tamruben collected some of it in his hand and looked at it. He began chuckling.

“Do you feel better now?” He asked and wiped the bloodied fingers over Celebrimbor’s cheek, making the elf shrug back in disgust.

Celebrimbor wiped the grime from his face, staring at the blood on his hands. His palm was red and so were his knuckles, which he had used to hit Tamruben. Disgust morphed into horror as he begun to realise what he had done.

“I’m not as ignorant as you think.” Tamruben continued smugly despite the injury on his face. “I know who you are. I know what your family did. Violence runs in your veins.”

“No-”

“Yes. You enjoyed hitting me and you want to do it again!” Tamruben challenged. “Go ahead - hurt me! Do it! But have no doubt, Annatar’s going to hear about this!”

Celebrimbor’s heart thundered in panic. Annatar couldn’t hear about it! If Annatar heard that he had attacked the fragile mortal boy, broken his face with fists that had grown hardened and heavy from centuries of smith-work…

His gaze lifted from the blood on his hands to Tamruben’s bloodied smirk. When their eyes met the mortal’s smug expression died and his eyes widened with dread. He spat blood on the ground at the elf’s feet and turned on his heels, the urgency of his retreat poorly concealed. His footsteps echoed through the corridor and then the spiralling staircase, as he went further and further away from Celebrimbor’s sight.

The elf stared after him, fighting the self-preservation instinct, which screamed that he needed to stop Tamruben before he got to Annatar with his story. There was still plenty of time to catch up to the human. He could threaten him, hit him again until the mortal agreed to go away and never return to his city. Or, just to be sure, he could break his neck against a marble pillar or on the edge of a stone step, making it look like an accident - humans were so clumsy, no one was going to suspect. And even if they did, the elves were going to pretend that they didn’t, because Tamruben was just a mayfly - here today and gone tomorrow, whereas Tyelpe was well beloved by his people and many of them could probably understand what drove him -

But Celebrimbor wasn’t a killer. He hadn’t lived through the entire first age without staining his hands in the blood of innocents to become a murderer in the peaceful halls of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, a place of learning and collaboration, which he had established with all races in mind.

Daring not even a breath, Celebrimbor walked to an opened window and looked down at the passageway below, where Tamruben was almost running, face still bleeding and shoulders raised in agitation as if he could somehow sense the proximity of danger he was escaping.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath and turned away, pacing towards a stone bench, slowly and blindly like one condemned. He sat and made himself wait. Annatar was surely going to wish to have words with him after seeing what he had done, and Tyelpe wasn’t going to make it even more inconvenient for him by leaving the place where he’d probably look for him first. Tyelpe felt that he had already done enough to ruin his chances with the one, whose affection he so desperately craved. The least he could do was stay where he was and make himself easy to find.

...

Hours rolled past and the sunset gave way to a moonless night. Celebrimbor didn’t move a muscle from his seat on the stone bench, staring unseeingly into the middle distance and letting his mind drift.

Hollowly he wondered if Annatar had simply packed his and Tamruben’s things, and set out from Ost-in-Edhil without a word. That was worse than any anger the Maia could have rained on him, any insult or injury. These things Celebrimbor would have welcomed, for he deserved them and knew how to handle them. But leaving without a word - that was by far the harshest punishment Annatar could mete out. Anything was better than such a final and irreversible end to the friendship that still meant everything to him.

As the stars wheeled in the sky, slowly Celebrimbor forced himself to come to terms with the possibility of such an end. It was amongst those bleak thoughts that Annatar appeared, his warmth and light brightening the darkened halls like a downed star.

Tyelpe didn’t dare look up as the being approached.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Annatar asked and his tone was surprisingly soft.

Celebrimbor had braced himself for screaming, a blow, anything but this tone, which held no violence, no contempt. He didn’t know what it meant, but if he could name it, he would have called it forgiveness. Yet he couldn’t hope for that.

He steeled himself and looked up, meeting the Maia’s eyes.

They looked at each other for a long moment and then a miracle happened. Annatar traversed the long steps between them and pulled Celebrimbor up into a tight embrace.

The elf went limp in his arms, too shocked to do anything but let himself be held. His own arms hanged idly by his sides, and he stared dazedly over the Maia’s shoulder, blinking rapidly in confusion as Annatar guided him down to sit side by side on the bench. Still enveloped in his arms, Celebrimbor tentatively returned the embrace, hands shaking from fear of somehow scaring the Maia away. He made sure to keep his touch feather-soft, his hands barely there, allowing Annatar the space to pull away if he wanted to, in case he changed his mind-

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Annatar repeated ever so softly against his hair.

 _‘Would you have done anything if I had?’_ Celebrimbor wondered. He clenched his jaw tightly shut as unbidden tears sprang up in his eyes and he nearly broke into treacherous sobs of disbelief and fear. Was Annatar really holding him? Was it for real or was he about to get pushed away and mocked for his weakness?

Annatar readjusted his grip on Tyelpe’s shoulders and the elf allowed himself to be moved and pulled closer to the Maia. He felt kisses trailed from his cheek to his mouth and desperately he turned and reciprocated the affection, kissing Annatar briefly on the lips before hiding his face against the Maia's white-clad shoulder.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Annatar whispered.

“What would you have had me say?” Celebrimbor answered quietly without inflection.

“Anything. Anything, my dear one, for you come first in my heart.” Annatar reassured him and Tyelpe couldn’t believe what the Maia said, but he didn’t want to question it. He didn’t wish to hear anything else.

“I didn’t know.” He said finally, and it was hard to admit it, but Annatar’s reassuring embrace and the soft touches to Celebrimbor’s hair soothed the anxiety of his confession a little bit.

“Tyelpe...” Annatar tipped his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. Celebrimbor managed to keep his expression level, despite the stinging in his eyes. “It was _I_ who didn’t know how you feel about me.”

Celebrimbor swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded, tears now rolling down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly, shamefully. He didn’t want Annatar to think he was weak or unworthy. He couldn’t afford to repulse the Maia in any way, so he hid his distress behind a brittle smile.

“Well, now you know.” Celebrimbor said, trying to make it sound light. “But… how is Tamruben? I hope I didn’t hurt him too much.”

“He will be fine.” Annatar said, his face shuttering. “I’ve sent Tamruben away.”

“What?” Celebrimbor gasped.

“Should I have kept him?” Annatar teased, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth in challenge.

“No!” Celebrimbor shook his head. “No… It’s just that I thought-”

“Hush, it’s alright now.” Annatar's forefinger traced Celebrimbor’s lips. “I’m glad that we finally know each other’s hearts. Now, let’s focus on what’s before us, instead of bringing up the past.”

Something about that didn’t sit too well with Celebrimbor, but he couldn’t disagree. He pushed the mortal out of his mind as Annatar leaned in to take his lips. He never questioned what had happened to Tamruben and where the mortal had went after that night when Annatar made love to him in the empty library, against the same bookcase where he had bloodied the human-boy’s face. It hardly mattered as long as Tamruben was gone and Annatar was with him. And if something felt wrong then it was surely just the way that things had went against Celebrimbor's bleak expectations. He was not very used to getting what he wanted, but perhaps that was subject to change. Perhaps his methods had been wrong all along. It was a good enough lesson to take away.


End file.
